


keep bleeding love

by lesbinej



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: ? sort of, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Volleyball, i hope u like it!!! its soft, pastel goth and jock gfs in love and smoochin, this is a gift for @blueskittles-art on tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 06:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17239325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbinej/pseuds/lesbinej
Summary: (title from bleeding love/leona lewis)Everyone is born with the first sentence that their soulmate says to them tattooed somewhere on their body. It’s different for everyone—some have it on their arms, or chests, or legs, or backs. Everyone pities the poor souls that have them where they can’t be covered up, like a neck or a face. Or a hand. Or a foot.- orsoulmates are a scam and Glimmer can fall in love with whoever she wants.





	keep bleeding love

_“Hey, pink-haired lady, have you seen some runaway chickens?”_

It’s been written in between Glimmer’s shoulders for as long as she can remember—or at least, that’s what everyone _tells_ her it says. Sometimes, if she twists really hard in the mirror, she can see some of it. Never the whole sentence, never all at once, and it’s always backwards, making it much harder to read. But it’s there. The first words her soulmate will ever say to her.

It’s all _bullshit._ Why does she even stand on her toes in the bathroom after a shower, trying to read words she doesn’t want to hear, words that symbolize a life she doesn’t want? Her mother obsesses over them, believing the words are sacred and gifts from the heavens—to the point that Glimmer will sometimes pad into the kitchen late at night for a snack, and find her mom sitting at the counter with a glass of wine in hand, musing over her own word etched on her wrist: _‘Behind you!’_ Her mom loves to tell the story of how she was swept off of her feet by a dashing gentleman that swept through the lobby of the restaurant she worked at, carrying a tray of steaming rolls piled higher than he could see over his head, and how her clumsy self had backed into him and sent all of them sprawling. It’s a fun story—Glimmer’s just heard it a hundred times, and she hates that her mom uses it as a lecture more often than not.

 _‘Glimmer, you really should believe in soulmates—your father and I are living examples.’_ Or, after her father died, _‘Glimmer, your soulmate is… someone special. You’ll never find someone else like them. You’ll never have quite the same romance with anyone else.’_

Yeah, yeah. Whatever. If she ever finds her soulmate (which is already _so_ unlikely—there’s seven billion people on the planet and the idea of finding just _one_ of them is… laughable), it’s going to be on her own terms, and she’ll say whatever the fuck she wants. Not a preprescribed sentence etched onto someone else’s arm.

Besides, who the fuck would say _‘hey, pink-haired lady, have you seen some runaway chickens?’_ as their _opening_ line? Surely, surely they’d at least say something like ‘hello’ or ‘hi, nice to meet you.’ But no, Glimmer’s soulmate is going to be a weird, muddy farmer with no sense of class or taste. If she’s going to have to live on a chicken farm…

Except she won’t. Because soulmates are a scam and Glimmer can fall in love with whoever she wants. And she’d never, _never_ fall in love with a rowdy, dirty chicken farmer who’s never heard of basic hygiene.

 

* * *

 

_“I—uh, a—arm.”_

Adora’s thought about the words inked into her forearm for as long as she can remember—tracing them obsessively over and over and over again. Ever since she learned to read, ever since she learned what the words meant. Ever since she knew that those would be the first words the love of her life, the person she’s _meant_ to be with, the person handpicked by destiny to spend the rest of her life with, would say to her.

And most of the time, all she can think is, _God, is destiny sure they didn’t write_ **_my_ ** _words on my arm?_ It’s exactly the type of first sentence she’d say upon meeting a very pretty girl, and so the idea of her soulmate being more than a little flustered by her is… comforting. At least she won’t be the only one.

Catra doesn’t seem to think so. She leans over, poking Adora’s hand with her finger, the hand that was absently tracing the words again.

“Babe, stop. You’re giving _me_ anxiety just watching.”

“Maybe you should be watching Mrs. Weaver instead.” Adora’s eyes are trained on the board, despite not taking anything in. She’s too occupied with Catra leaning over her shoulder.

“Ugh, you know I _hate_ her.”

Adora spares a glance at Catra, barely skimming her face and the words etched along her jaw: _“Hey, aren’t you that furry girl from chemistry?”_ They’ve been there ever since Adora can remember, too—as always, the thought is accompanied by the small twinge that it wasn’t the first thing Adora said to her, and therefore, they won’t be together. But it’s okay—Adora’s over her, now. Mostly.

“Yeah, well, she said this was gonna be on the final.”

“Shit, really?” Catra’s mismatched eyes widen, and her attention snaps to the board. It pretty much always works to get Catra’s attention off of her for a few moments, and it does now—at least, until Catra’s nose scrunches up and she says sulkingly, “I don’t have any idea what she’s talking about.”

Adora sighs and leans over, turning Catra’s open textbook a few pages over to the review questions. “She’s working out 23 right now.”

“Oh.” Catra’s eyes skim the page for a moment, and she highlights the question. Then, she turns back to Adora. “Anyways—you’ve been thinking about those words ever since you could read.” Catra gives her a half-smirk. “Looking at them forever won’t change them, you know.”

“I know,” Adora sighs, leaning back in her chair and watching as Mrs. Weaver explains the problem that Adora worked out ten minutes ago on her scratch paper.

“So what’s the big deal—”

“And that’s it. You can all run along now.” Mrs. Weaver sets down her marker and waves to dismiss the class—Catra’s on her feet and halfway out the door by the time she finishes speaking. Adora’s more slow, careful to close up her textbook and notebook, shoving them into her bookbag in _their_ spaces—the Pre-Cal textbook carefully slotted between the British Literature and the Chemistry textbook, the notebook in its color-coordinated space, between green and purple. By the time she’s leaving the classroom, she’s one of the only ones left. Catra’s waiting outside the door, as always.

“Hey, slowpoke,” Catra says casually. As if she’d ever _not_ wait on Adora. “You leave anything behind?”

“No,” Adora says, ignoring Catra’s teasing. “But I think _you_ did.”

“What?! Where?” Catra pokes her head in the room and Adora has to physically drag her out by the arm, laughing the whole time.

“Nothing, Cat. Just messing with you.”

Catra huffs. “That’s not _funny._ You know Mrs. Weaver gets mad whenever I leave stuff in her room.”

Adora nods. “That one time she threw your whole letterman in the trash ‘cause you left it in her room for ten minutes, and it was already in the can when you ran back during lunch.”

Catra sticks her tongue out in disgust. “God, I hate her.”

“Yeah.”

Catra nudges her. “She _loves_ you, though. Wish some of that would rub off—”

Catra’s interrupted by a cute purple-haired girl walking past, whose eyes widen when she sees Adora and Catra walking by in the hall.

“Hey—hey, you’re that furry girl from chemistry, aren’t you?”

Adora’s stomach drops as she hears the words, the familiar ones that she read over and over again during her childhood, as she grew up next to Catra, the words that she read during class because she was bored, the words that she read when Catra was on a rant as they rode the bus home together from school, the words that Adora read as she kissed Catra’s neck in the broom closet between classes. The words that haunted her for years, reminding her that despite being in love with her best friend, despite her best friend loving her _back_ —that they’d never last. And the words had been right—she’d finally broken up with Catra last year, and ever since, she’s been hurting. It was the right choice—they just hadn’t been working out. Adora had been too pushy, too overbearing, too intense, and Catra had cold feet and felt inferior, felt insignificant, felt like she hadn’t been enough. Breaking up had been the best choice, objectively, but it doesn’t mean that (maybe, maybe) Adora’s heart doesn’t hurt when she witnesses Catra meeting the love of her life.

Catra, somehow, doesn’t recognize the words etched into her own jaw, and turns around to snap, “God, who the _FUCK_ keeps saying that? I’m _not_ a _FUCKING_ furry!” And then, both of them stop, and Catra’s eyes widen as she realizes what had been said to her—the other girl stops dead, too.

“I—uh—I’m Entrapta,” the girl says with a smile. “And, actually, I was looking for you to find you, to see if you wanted to… to partner for that robotics competition.” Her smile grows broader as she seems to gain confidence, but Adora notices that her hands fidget a lot as she speaks—it only catches her eye because of the dark words inked onto the back of one of them, across the knuckles: _“God, who the FUCK keeps saying that?”_ She barely even hears Entrapta’s continuation: “Honestly—I really don’t need a partner, but we _have_ to have one, and you seemed like the type that would let me just do whatever and show up to take half the credit at the end, so…”

“Oh my god, are you asking me to not to any work and still get rewarded?” Catra turns to Adora and blows a kiss. “Sorry, babe, but she really _is_ the love of my life. Seeya later?”

Adora watches as Catra walks away, still not even fully processing what just happened, with Entrapta’s hand tangled with one hand, the other stuffed casually into her pocket, and tries not to cry. Really, she set herself up for heartbreak when she fell in love with someone other than her soulmate, but it doesn’t mean it can’t hurt.

Well, now Adora’s left to figure out what to do with the rest of her afternoon.

 

* * *

 

Glimmer’s stuck in traffic. Again.

It’s not like after-school traffic is always fantastic and today is just the odd day out—it’s awful every day, and she’s not sure why she’s surprised anymore when getting out of the parking lot turns into a thirty minute chore.

Today, though, is different—there’s been an accident literally _right_ next to the highway, meaning the entire on ramp is blocked off. So… Glimmer has to take the back roads home, which means an extra half an hour added onto her trip. Which is just _fucking_ fantastic, and _exactly_ what she needs after her art project getting a B-, so she’s already going to be coming home to a lecture about it. Not to mention the _one_ class she actually cares about, Psychology of Art Therapy, was cancelled today because of the teacher being sick, and she _only_ gets that class once a week. Which. Fucking. Blows. So she had an extra hour to sit around doing nothing, with not enough time to go home in between classes, and too much time to spend it doing nothing (she’d ended up napping in the gym).

So Glimmer trudles down the street, extremely conscious of the slanted L on her front grate as she drives past trailers and mobile homes. Her sleek, luxury car doesn’t belong in the backcountry, and there’s no one more aware of it than she. It’s why she avoids the dirt roads of the backside of Brightmoon, honestly. There’s too many unpredictable variables that could lead to total disaster. Is the pulled-over person she’s driving past a racist redneck or a ‘completely normal, just getting punched by life’ type of person? It’s nigh impossible to tell with eyes only used to gourmet cheeses and the pasty faces of her mother’s billionaire friends—to Glimmer, there’s not much difference in class to her, just the mindset of “rich” and “poor.” And it’s not like she _tries_ to be discriminatory, she just feels… uncomfortable, when she’s not in her element. Like she doesn’t belong there. Like she’s being eyed and judged and passed along as a pretty, shallow face, and that stings.

Except Glimmer’s been deep in her thoughts now for ten minutes, and she’s just now realizing that she has _no_ idea where she’s going. No idea at all. Her surroundings are unfamiliar and, despite being _slightly_ nicer than the trailer parks she’d been driving through minutes ago, still look sketchy enough that Glimmer doesn’t want to just pull over and ask for directions. Some stranger would see her diamond necklace and rob her blind before she even stepped out of her car.

So she pulls over, trying not to panic as she fumbles in her purse for her phone. She scrolls her contacts for a second, skipping straight over her mother and pressing on ‘Bow.’

 **_glimmer:_ ** _hey u h im fuckbni lsot. pelase assti._

 **_glimmer:_ ** _[SENT A LOCATION]_

It’s all Glimmer can do to just breathe deeply and turn up her music a little louder, letting Zella Day play just slightly too loud, just barely louder than her usual comfort level, just enough that Glimmer can’t think of anything else but that. It helps with keeping herself calm until she gets a text back.

 **_bow:_ ** _ur like 20 minutes from my house, nd i can text u directions. hows ur gas?_

Glimmer glances up at the gas needle, barely hovering over the letter E. Well, shit.

 **_glimmer:_ ** _fujg i gotra gert has. gonan get robbed at the gads station byte_

She ignores her phone resolutely after she presses ‘send,’ instead setting her sights on finding a gas station. It’s hard to focus when all Glimmer can think about is the fact that she barely knows where she is, she’s terrified of getting robbed, and not to mention, the sun is starting to sink low, since it’s the dead middle of winter, and the sun likes to set at four in the evening like a total dickwad. She chooses to ignore the mild rumbling of her stomach, already taking a chance with getting gas and unwilling to risk her neck any more than she has to, today.

Except there’s no gas stations _anywhere_ nearby. All Glimmer can find for miles are mobile homes, trailers, and, sometimes, a slightly nicer-looking house that may or may not have a second floor. Those are the houses with horses grazing peacefully in the yard, and chickens clucking pleasantly to themselves. Those are the houses that make Glimmer think the countryside isn’t so bad—but then the next ten houses are trailers with shotguns visible from the street in rocking chairs, unmowed lawns, and broken windows. And Glimmer’s right back to being terrified.

So terrified, that she barely notices the gas needle dipping lower, or the sun sinking further down the horizon line until the sky is a deep, golden orange, until her car sputters, lurches once, twice, and then resolutely refuses to move.

“No, oh my God, no, no, no,” Glimmer groans, feeling hot tears seize her throat at the idea of being stranded. Her mom finding out she’d been irresponsible enough to run out of gas—in the _slummy_ part of town, no less—well, the idea was daunting enough that Glimmer instantly made up her mind that, no matter what, her mom was _not_ finding out about this. Facing her mom and receiving consequences for her carelessness, or getting shot on the side of the street? The latter won by flying colors.

Glimmer sits in her car for a minute, turning the key, praying, praying that somehow, gas would magically spawn in her tank, and allow her just a _little_ bit of time to find a gas station. The engine doesn’t turn—no such luck, tonight.

“God _damn_ it!” Glimmer screams in frustration, stomping on the floor of the car. Tears fall onto her lap, unbidden, and the sight makes her pause. Breathe. Gather herself.

If she wasn’t a coward, she’d call her mom. Or Bow. But Bow would probably tell her mom (on accident, of course, but still), and then she’d be in _twice_ as much trouble for not telling her mom directly. Glimmer runs down the list of people in her mind she _could_ call. Her mom and Bow are both right out—her aunt? Too far. She lives three hours east of here. Mermista? She’s at volleyball practice, or just getting off. Either way, she’s of no help. Perfuma, Entrapta, and Frosta are all busy, too—Perfuma does Yearbook on Fridays, Entrapta’s busy preparing for the robotics competition that she still has to find a partner for, and Frosta… well, Frosta’s a year younger, so it’s probably already past her curfew (and even if it’s not, she doesn’t text back, _ever._ It’s like she’s allergic to her phone).

Glimmer sighs in despair. She might as well just lie here and die, for all that will do. It’s _freezing_ outside, and Glimmer just has a light jacket on (which is another thing her mom would scold her for, and she really doesn’t want to deal with that, either), not to mention the fact that for every minute that she spends in her car bemoaning herself, the sun drops lower and lower, and soon, she’s going to have to deal with this in the pitch black of night.

So—rather than sit around moping and feeling sorry for herself, Glimmer opens up Google Maps and punches in ‘nearest gas station’ (with considerably much more misspellings, but she never bothers to correct those), squinting at the results that pop up.

The closest one is 1.3 miles away. Better get walking.

Glimmer snuggles a little deeper into her jacket and grabs her car keys and her wallet, hoping that leaving her two hundred dollar purse in her car will make her less of a target for potential robbers, or thugs, or anyone else lurking the streets at six in the evening.

(It’s not late. But the sun is heading down all the same, which means there’s not much difference in darkness at six or darkness at nine.)

The first thing Glimmer notices, the very instant that she opens her car door and steps tentatively out onto the sorry excuse for a road, is the stinging cold. It whips at her face and bites like a merciless animal, clawing, snaking everywhere she doesn’t want it to be. It almost _hurts_ , the way her fingers go numb after five minutes, or the way tears won’t even fall from her cheeks because of the frigid air snapping them up the second they try to slip out.

She won’t cry, anyways. Not when she can help herself.

After another minute and a half of forcing her legs to bend against the biting cold, though, she’s beginning to think maybe listening to her mother yell at her for a solid ten minutes and then get grounded for a week would still be better than this.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fi—

Glimmer barely hears a girl’s voice over the sharp breeze howling in her ears. So much so, that she stops, and peers in the direction that she heard it from, barely able to pinpoint the location of the voice at all. But then she spots a mop of tangled blonde hair piled on top of a breathless girl, red varsity jacket smeared with brown, cheeks flushed red and smudged with mud. A twig sticks out of the messy bun atop her head, and Glimmer can’t help but stare.

Before Glimmer can say anything, though, she spots Glimmer, waves, and shouts into the cold air between them: “Hey, pink-haired lady, have you seen some runaway chickens?”

The words drip like ice down Glimmers spine, coiling around where those very words are etched into her skin. It feels like she can feel the words heating up, lighting on fire, making it impossible to breathe, impossible to think, impossible to know what to say next.

This is her soulmate?

“I—uh—” Glimmer’s heart seems to stop beating for a moment as she’s struck by the girl in front of her—eyes pure blue like a glacier, lips just gently, curiously pursed, and, despite the overall jockiness of her, just endearing—and her eyes are caught by the girl’s jacket slipping down her arm, revealing a bicep that… well, it’s well-formed. “A—arm.”

Shit. She bungled that up really, really good.

But the girl’s eyes widen in a way that means she _must_ recognize those words, which is honestly just _embarrassing—_ she’s had an incoherent, stumbling mess tattooed somewhere on her body since she was born? Glimmer doesn’t know if it’s suddenly hot outside, or if she’s burning with humiliation.

“I—um,” is all the other girl says, so Glimmer takes a deep breath to steady her nerves, despite her heart pounding in her throat and her mind racing. _What was the question, what was the question, what wa—_ “Um, I’m Glimmer… And no, I haven’t seen any chickens. I don’t think I’ve _ever_ seen a chicken, actually.”

The girl blinks. “Uh, I’m Adora. And—and you’ve never seen a chicken?”

The way she phrases it makes Glimmer’s hackles raise instantly—like the idea is absurd. “Well, no—I don’t live out _here.”_

As soon as the words leave Glimmer’s mouth, she knows she fucked it up—Adora’s face crinkles in irritation.

“And what does _that_ mean?”

Glimmer tries to backpedal, realizing she’s making a very, _very_ poor impression on her ‘soulmate.’ Or whatever the fuck. Who cares if she said the words that have been inscribed into Glimmer’s soul before she was ever even a thought in her mother’s mind, right? She can love whoever she wants.

But Adora huffs out a breath, and Glimmer can’t help herself from glancing at her lips.

“Uh… nothing. We just… don’t really have space for chickens, is all.”

Adora’s eyes glance over Glimmer’s body, probably making note of the expensive-looking jacket and impractical pink skirt paired with her black crop top, leaving her belly exposed to the cold, and diamond jewelry, but says nothing.

“Whatever. What are you doing out here?”

Glimmer bites her lip. “I ran out of gas.”

“...Of course you did.”

“Here, I’ll—” Glimmer fidgets, hoping she doesn’t sound like a complete idiot for being so desperate, but the sun is setting even faster now, and she doesn’t have much time before her mom will be calling, wondering where she is. “I’ll help you look for your chickens if you give me a ride to the nearest gas station?”

Adora’s silent for a moment. Then, a curt “fine.”

Glimmer shivers. “So, how many are missing?”

“Three. Chickie, Cluck, and Eggsy.”

Glimmer snorts. “Eggsy?”

Adora cracks a smile, but the icy undertone of her voice is still there when she says, “I named her when I was eleven.”

“Oh. So… they’re special to you, then?”

Adora looks away, red in the face. “No. They’re chickens.”

Glimmer hums. “Okay.”

“I think they could’ve gone out towards the street, but I’m not sure. And then, of course, they might have gone into the woods, but I hope not, ‘cause we’ll never find them in there.”

Glimmer shudders at the idea of traipsing through a cold, wet, muddy forest after dark. “Let’s hope not.”

She follows Adora as they both begin to walk in silence, occasionally breaking it with a hollered “here, chick, chick, chick.” They cover a large portion of yard before Glimmer spies a house that _must_ be where Adora lives—it’s one of the nicer ones on the block, but still not… fantastic. One of the windows is boarded up.

Glimmer tears her eyes away from it, instead letting her eyes roam the dark brush in front of the building, before she spies a flash of white in an otherwise dark and gloomy garden.

“Hey—hey, what’s that?”

Adora turns around and squints. “Eggsy?”

Glimmer can’t see a damn thing, but Adora must be able to, because she half-sprints to the prickly bushes that the white streak is underneath—and sure enough, it’s a chicken. Glimmer’s fascinated—the bird is bigger than she expected. She’s big and noisy and a beautiful, stark white. Adora picks her up easily, thrusting her into Glimmer’s arms almost immediately.

“Wait—” Glimmer tries to protest as Eggsy flaps in her arms, but Adora ducks into the brush again and comes back up with two other chickens, one mottled brown, one a striped black and white.

“They like to all hang out together,” Adora explains a little, to which Glimmer is grateful, but she’s somewhat occupied trying to keep Eggsy from smacking her in the face. Her arms would be a ruined, bloody mess without her jacket on. “Oh, um—” Adora finally notices her predicament, frowning. “Hold her wings to her side with one hand, and hold her feet with the other. Tuck her up against your chest to keep the other wing down. Um… like this.” Adora demonstrates as best as she can with one chicken on each hand, tucking the brown one up to her chest and easily pinning the chicken’s wings to her side, cupping her feet with her palm.

Glimmer tries her best to copy the movements, ending up with a disgruntled, sideways chicken tucked to her breast and a wing halfway stuck out, one claw digging into her thumb, but it’s better than nothing. Adora nods—reassuringly or simply just in acknowledgement, Glimmer doesn’t know—and begins to trek to some other corner of the yard, jerking her head for Glimmer to follow. So she does.

“You’re not so bad, huh?” Glimmer cooes after a minute, low, so that Adora won’t hear. “Kinda heavy, though. What does she feed you?”

“Not enough to make her heavier than that designer purse,” Adora grumbles, and it takes Glimmer a moment to realize she was talking to _her._

“And how would _you_ know what kind of purse I carry around?” Glimmer fires back, annoyed that it seems like Adora just dislikes her for breathing, despite being _perfectly_ nice and civilized. She didn’t even say the words ‘muddy’ or ‘unclean.’

“We have _history_ together. Unless you just don’t recognize me?”

Glimmer suddenly flicks through every memory she can conjure up of history class. It’s the _one_ class she never pays much attention to, since it’s right before lunch, but Adora’s face _did_ look familiar…

“Oh. You’re _Catra’s_ friend.”

“Now what is that supposed to mean?” Adora snaps.

“Nothing, nothing,” Glimmer shrugs—an impressive feat with a chicken tucked to her chest. “Just… everyone knows she’s a troublemaker. She flunks half her classes and aces the other half. She got kicked off of every sports team we have. She blew up the chemistry lab last year.”

“Nobody proved that was her,” Adora says defensively.

“She bragged that she did it for a week straight, after,” Glimmer snaps, not bothering to keep the hostility out of her voice. “Unless you’d rather just blindly believe whatever your friend tells you.”

“I’d rather believe my best friend over a brat that I just met five minutes ago, and already thinks she knows me enough to judge me.” Adora huffs and stops at a small… shack. It has one door barely big enough for a person, and a tiny door on the side big enough for a chicken. A fence encircles a large section of the yard around the house, connecting to the walls of it and forming a small pen. Adora opens the latch of the large door and throws her two chickens inside, then takes Eggsy from Glimmer to do the same.

“Okay, what is your _problem_ with me?” Glimmer asks, half-antagonistic but half genuinely curious. As far as she knows, she’s never even _spoken_ to Adora, much less done anything to garner such putrid dislike.

“ _My_ problem with _you?”_ Adora laughs, but it’s a cold, cruel one that strikes Glimmer oddly like the expressions Catra makes at her from across the classroom. “Try again, princess. I’m peachy.”

“Have I done something to you? Did I spit in your drink? Did I push you down the stairs?”

Adora shakes her head, latching up the door again. “It’s not… it’s not _you,_ I guess, but it _is_ you.”

“Clear as mud.”

Adora laughs bitterly. “I can’t believe you’re supposed to be my _soulmate._ ”

Oh, good. The elephant in the room.

“Well, I can,” Glimmer huffs. “Just like the universe to stick me with a dumb, muddy jock.”

Adora’s lips—oh, God, maybe her lips make Glimmer a little weak—twist into a frown. “‘Least you didn’t get a princess stuck up her own ass but _still_ can’t see she’s full of shit.”

Glimmer’s about ready to pop a vein, and she opens her mouth to let Adora know _just_ where she can stick that superiority complex—when the thought strikes her that Adora is her only chance at getting back home in a reasonable, hopefully painless manner, so she snaps her mouth shut and fumes, silently.

“Done already?” Adora asks, sounding more surprised than anything else.

Glimmer grits her teeth, shoving down the urge to strangle her. “I need a ride to the gas station. After that, who knows?”

Adora laughs—actually laughs, not the cold, hostile, humorless laugh from before, accompanied by a soft snort.

“Maybe you’re not so bad, Glitter.”

“Glimmer,” Glimmer corrects her, unsure where her sudden attitude change came from.

“Glimmer. Whatever. I’ve got a gas can in my trunk and then after we fill that up we can just take swings at each other behind the dumpster, yeah?”

Glimmer snorts. “Only if I get the first punch.”

“Oh, I see,” Adora says. “Can’t take the first hit?”

Glimmer shakes her head, but she lets an amused smile play across her lips. “Maybe I just wanna see if I can knock you over in one hit.”

“One?” Adora laughs, and sticks out her leg a little comically. “These thighs are from riding horses for ten years, baby. Nothing’s knocking _me_ over.”

Glimmer wants to laugh along, but her throat seizes up immediately when she looks down at Adora’s leg—the thigh is rounded and… bulky. And Glimmer knows there’s truth to what she said.

Her mouth is dry. She can’t stop staring.

“Anyways,” Adora says, beginning to walk again. “We’ll get your car going and then we can go back to seething at each other until we die, okay?”

Glimmer smiles. “Yeah. Fuck soulmates, right?”

Adora looks away, and Glimmer swears there’s uncertainty to her voice when she says “yeah.”

 

* * *

 

Adora’s knee hits the sand, rough and gritty and painful, but she manages to bump the ball just before it hits the ground, straight over to Perfuma, who launches it across the net.

“Adora! Are you okay?”

Adora can’t do much but grunt in response, struggling to her feet. Mermista gives her a cool, indifferent glance before eyeing her watch and announcing: “It’s five! Wash up—you guys did good today, I guess.”

Adora grins—that’s the closest to praise that Mermista ever gives them, so she’s learned to take her victories when they come. Perfuma smiles, loudly agreeing that they did _amazing_ today, and that they should all come to the after-party at her house after the game on Saturday.

“Sounds good,” Adora says absently, trying to remember exactly what she’d said she would do on Saturday… she’s _pretty_ sure she’s doing something besides the game in the morning, something she said she’d do after…?

The thought strikes her full force—exactly when Adora sees Catra’s face grinning at her from the bleachers.

 _Fuck._ She’s going to Catra’s to help her with that art project that Catra didn’t pay attention to at all, and it’s due Monday.

“Hey, Perfum—”

But Perfuma’s back is already disappearing around the corner of the building, chatting with Mermista about her party, and Adora has to stay behind to talk to Catra.

 _It’s not like you can’t just text her,_ Adora scolds herself silently, but it feels like a cheap cop-out, and Adora hates dipping on her friends over text.

“Hey, Adora,” Catra says with her trademark light smirk.

“Catra,” Adora grumbles, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. She’s not even annoyed _with_ Catra, but… everything’s been on her ass, lately, and her best friend having spent the entire time she was in volleyball practice making out with her new girlfriend behind the dumpster didn’t do much but add to her pile of things to think about and decide how she feels about them later.

On the one hand, she’s happy—so, so happy that Catra found her soulmate. And Entrapta’s _wonderful,_ just fun and engaging to be around—with Entrapta, Catra’s up to twice as much mayhem, and half as much actual work.

...Hm. That might be a little detrimental. But Adora can think about that later.

Catra pulls Adora into a hug. “What’s up?”

Adora shakes her head. “Nothing. Just got a lot on my mind—you know, with finals and stuff. And the game on Saturday.”

“Aw, you’re gonna crush it,” Catra says, punching Adora’s arm. “You’ve put your whole life into this.”

Adora snorts. “My whole high school career, banked on volleyball? No. But these finals are gonna kick my ass, and if I don’t pass all of them, it’s gonna drop my grades _pretty_ bad.”

“Entrapta could mess with your grades if they’re not high enough…” Catra’s voice trickles off, sly and suggestive, and it’s then that Adora notices purple lipstick smeared on Catra’s neck, and the sight makes her stomach twist.

“No! I mean—no, Catra, that’s not right. I can do this.”

“Come ooonnn, you need a break, babe.”

Adora shakes her head. “It’s fine, Catra. I’ll have the whole winter break to just chill out, right?”

Catra sighs dramatically, drawing it out until it’s more of a groan. “I _gueessssss_.”

Adora offers a half smile. “Hey, we’ll get to hang out for Christmas, at least.”

Catra’s peculiar eyes widen, and Adora’s heart sinks.

“Uh… I actually said I was gonna spend Christmas with ‘Trapta this year.”

Adora blinks. “You met her like, literally this week.”

“I knowwww,” Catra moans. “But she’s literally, like, _perfect._ She’s so smart and—” Catra catches herself, face flushing as she shoots a glare at Adora. “You are _not_ going to tell anyone about this, or I’ll skin you alive.”

Adora laughs. “There’s no one to tell, Cat. If you haven’t noticed, you’re my _only_ friend.”

Catra hooks an arm around Adora’s neck, and they start walking towards Adora’s car. “Yeah, ‘cause you’re a fuckin’ loser.”

Maybe Adora’s content with this. Maybe she can be okay with her soulmate being a stuck-up brat, as long as she’ll still have Catra at the end of it all.

But then Adora spies a familiar head of pink hair, and her stomach feels like it was dipped in ice.

“Glimmer,” Adora practically growls. Catra glances up, following Adora’s gaze, until she sees her as well. Then, she snorts.

“I didn’t know you even knew her.”

Adora flushes. “I don’t—not really.”

“She sits behind you in history and glares at me the whole time. I didn’t think you’d ever even said anything to her.”

Adora’s silent for a long moment, trying to figure out how to convey that that spoiled, belligerent rich girl is somehow supposed to be the love of her life. She wants to bang on Heaven’s return department window.

“She, um…” Adora trails off, and then, deciding it would be better to just show Catra, bunches up her sleeve around her elbow, thrusting her forearm under Catra’s nose and looking away.

“Oh. My. God.” Catra’s voice sounds… almost gleeful. Evilly so. “ _Glimmer?”_

Adora nods, feeling the bitter taste on her tongue.

Catra’s shrieking laugh is loud enough that Adora winces, but she can’t exactly untangle herself, so they keep walking—well, Adora is pretty much dragging Catra, but the forward motion is all the same.

“God. Glimmer? You’re sure?” Catra manages in between fits. “God. _God._ I hate that bitch so much.”

Adora tries to contain her surprise. “Really? I mean—”

“ _Really._ She ratted me out to Mrs. Weaver when I slashed her tire, and I had detention for the literal rest of the school year. It was _September._ ”

Adora whistles. “Wow.”

She doesn’t say that Catra shouldn’t have slashed anyone’s tires, not even Mrs. Weaver’s—she doesn’t say that maybe Glimmer had good intentions when she did it. She doesn’t say that maybe, maybe her rash judgement of Glimmer might be prickling in the back of her head as too harsh, too soon. But she shoves that right next to her memories of Glimmer’s freckles and her soft-looking lips, her big puppy eyes that fill with emotion, and her cloud-like hair. She slams all of that into a vault and locks it as tightly as she can.

“Yeah. God, I’d slash her tires, but I think she’d actually sue me.” Catra shrugs. “Maybe it’d be worth it.”

Adora shakes her head. “Let’s get home, Cat.”

Catra opens her mouth, hopefully to agree, but it’s at that instant that Glimmer looks up from where she’s standing next to her car and makes eye contact with Adora.

Adora doesn’t even hear what Catra says—all she can think about is that Glimmer looks fantastic in a pair of pink overalls and a black sweater underneath, her lip piercing a silver crescent in the center of lips stained plum. Adora’s not sure if she spies a second piercing on Glimmer’s eyebrow, but then it glints in the sun, and _okay,_ that’s a stud through her eyebrow.

Glimmer stares right back.

Adora doesn’t know how long she looks, or how all this looking isn’t fueling the fire of hatred in her belly, or how—and this is the most inexplicable of all—she wants to tease that lip ring between her teeth, but it’s all swept out of her mind in an instant, anyways, when Catra snaps her sixty dollar manicure in front of Adora’s face.

“Hello? Adora?”

“Sorry!” Adora squeaks. “Yes, that sounds good.”

Catra squints at her, suspicious, but carries on. “Anyways, so I was thinking for that project…”

Adora spares a glance backward at Glimmer, but she’s been joined by a boy that looks about their age, and isn’t looking in Adora’s direction anymore.

Adora turns and clicks her car key, unlocking the car. Maybe it’s best to just forget about it.

 

* * *

 

Glimmer cracks her knuckles, elbowing Bow in a friendly way.

“Hey—hey, did we have English homework?”

Bow shakes his head, leaning back in his seat. “No. Just that paper she assigned three weeks ago.”

Glimmer’s heart skips a beat. “Um? A paper? How is that _not_ homework?”

Bow shrugs. “She assigned it three weeks ago, Glimmer. I thought you would’ve had it done forever ago.”

Glimmer glowers at him as best as she can without drawing anyone else’s attention.

“ _Bow.”_

“Glimmer.”

“Uuuuuuggggghhhh,” she groans loudly, _too_ loudly, loudly enough that Mrs. Beatrix turns around to glare at her. Luckily, Glimmer escapes a lecture. Glimmer whispers more quietly, but still indignant, “You _know_ I forget about things that aren’t due the next day.”

Bow shrugs. “I dunno. I thought you were trying to get better about that.”

“I _am_ ,” Glimmer protests. “But I can’t if you don’t _help_ me!”

“Well, I turned mine in last week, and I’m studying with Perfuma this afternoon—her weekend got booked because of that volleyball game.”

“That…” _The volleyball game. The one that she’s supposed to go to to support Perfuma and Mermista. Shit._ “That sounds perfect. I’ll just come with you and you can help me with my essay while Perfuma studies.”

Bow shakes his head, looking a little uncomfortable. “Glimmer, no offense, but that’s _not_ how that works. I’m sorry—I _want_ to help you, but I just don’t have enough time.”

Glimmer huffs and leans back in her seat.

Bow gives her a sympathetic look. “I hear you made friends with Adora. Could you ask her?”

“No!” Glimmer hisses, too loudly, and Mrs. Beatrix’s hand on the whiteboard twitches.

“Mrs. Moon, is there a problem?”

“No, ma’am!” Glimmer squeaks, and pretends to write down notes furtively until Mrs. Beatrix scoffs and continues writing. Glimmer shoots a look at Bow. “I’d rather eat _glass_ than ask Adora to help me.”

Bow shrugs. “Suit yourself. I don’t know her, so I don’t know, but she’s in my English class, and she’s _really_ good. Like—it’s freaky.”

“I hear she’s a total kiss-up,” Glimmer grumbles, glancing up at the board and realizing that shit, there’s a lot of notes up there.

“Mermista says that about everyone,” Bow comments idly. “She said that about me, too.”

“That’s ‘cause you _are_ a kiss-up, Bow,” Glimmer says, not unkindly.

Bow pauses a moment and then gives a conceding nod. “Yeah. But she still says that about everyone.”

Glimmer’s lips twist at the corners and the conversation effectively ends as Mrs. Beatrix asks, “Is everyone done with these? I’d like to move on to the next chapter.”

 

\- - -

 

Glimmer’s thumb hovers over Adora’s name in her phone, hesitating before she presses on the contact. Is she really _that_ desperate?

The answer is that the paper is due tomorrow, she won’t get a chance to write it again, and Adora’s pretty much the only one who can help her, despite literally everything. Adora’s a dumb jock _and_ good at English? It’s not fair—she should pick _one._

Glimmer bites her lip. If Adora doesn’t pick up, she’s just gonna off herself, because that’s a better idea than staying up until five in the morning writing a paper about a book she didn’t read.

Glimmer presses the call button and brings her phone to her ear. It rings once, twice, three times, and she doesn’t know if Adora’s going to pick up or not—she _wants_ Adora to, _needs_ her to, but an equally loud part of her would rather avoid this whole interaction.

At the very last second, just before it goes to voicemail, Glimmer hears a click, and then a familiar voice says, “Hello? Who is this?”

Glimmer sighs. _Might as well get it over with._

“Um, Adora? It’s… Glimmer.”

“Glimmer? How did you even get my number?”

Glimmer’s heart stops for a second, forgetting that she’d had to find Mermista and ask her for Adora’s number—and then Mermista didn’t have it, so she’d asked Perfuma, and Perfuma didn’t have it, so she’d asked Entrapta, and Entrapta didn’t have it but she _did_ have Catra’s number, and Catra would definitely have it, so she’d had to call _Catra._ And, surprisingly, Catra gave her Adora’s number, albeit shrieking with laughter the whole time. Glimmer’s face still flushes with equal parts humiliation and anger at the memory.

“Uh… Catra gave it to me. ‘Cause I need your help.”

“Catra?” Adora’s voice sounds innocently confused, as if she didn’t ever think about that possibility. And then she’s silent for a moment. “What do you need me for?”

“Okay, um, don’t laugh— _or_ hang up—but I really, really need your help with a paper that’s due tomorrow.”

Silence. One, two. Then—

“What’s it about?”

Glimmer lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“King Lear. There’s a couple prompts to choose from.”

“What’s the one you picked?”

“Um,” Glimmer hesitates, realizing she hasn’t even cracked the list since she received the assignment. “Hang on.”

She shoves off of her bed, letting her rolling chair spin over to her desk, where her laptop sits. She shakes the mouse, and the screen blinks to life, already open on Blackboard. Under the ‘English 3’ tab, she spies what she’s looking for: handouts.

Glimmer opens the list of prompts and skims until she finds a prompt that looks interesting, if easy enough.

“‘Goneril and Regan are not evil; they are formidable women asserting themselves in an otherwise male-dominated world. Discuss.’”

“Ouch.” Adora says sympathetically, and Glimmer’s struck with the thought that _maybe_ she fucked up, but it’s too late now.

“Please?” Glimmer finds her voice slightly whinier than she would like, but she can’t change it now, and all she can do is wait for a response.

Adora groans loudly.

“Fine. _Fine._ Whatever. Text me your address.”

“No!” Glimmer half-shouts, looking at the time. “Um. What if we meet at Starbucks instead?”

Adora pauses. “The one on Fourth and Summer?”

“Yeah. That works.”

“Okayyyy,” Adora says grudgingly, drawing out the last syllable in a resigned sigh. “You’re buying the coffee, princess.”

“Not a problem,” Glimmer says. “See you in half an hour?”

“It’s a date,” Adora says, then her line goes quiet. “I—”

Glimmer snorts. “Whatever, princess.”

 

* * *

 

Why, why, oh _why_ did Adora agree to this?

She’s driving out to Starbucks at close to eight in the evening because of _Glimmer_ , to _help_ her, just because she’d asked. And she’d been promised free coffee. But still.

Adora’s lips twist into a frown, remembering the argument she’d had with Catra not ten minutes before Glimmer called.

She’d said she wished Catra still spent time with her. Catra had gotten offended and pointed out that Adora had a life, so why can’t she. Adora had gotten upset and frustrated, not really listening to what Catra had said, just trying, trying to piece into words that she misses her, misses her best friend, misses being the only person in her life. But words had failed her, and Catra had hung up the phone with a resounding _click._

Maybe Adora just wants a distraction, right now. And even Glimmer is better than nothing.

So that’s how Adora finds herself pulling into the Starbucks parking lot at eight at night, spying the only car worth more than 10,000 dollars in the lot, and pulling in next to it. Glimmer’s car.

Adora steps out of her car and locks it, looking around for Glimmer. Then, she spies a pink head of hair in one of the windows, Macbook already out as she frowns at the screen, typing. Adora can’t stop a small smile from playing across her lips.

The bell tinkles when she opens the store, and the lone barista drops her phone quickly and says “Welcome to Starbucks!”

Adora gives them a nod of acknowledgement, mostly amused—she does the same at work when it’s slow.

Glimmer looks up at her, head barely peeping above the top of her laptop.

“Adora,” Glimmer says in curt acknowledgement.

“Hi, Glimmer,” Adora says, wondering where that feeling of resentment is. Wondering why she doesn’t feel quite as bitter.

“Okay, so,” Glimmer says, beckoning her over. Adora slides into the chair next to her, scooting the chair closer to her so that she can see the screen. “I kind of worked out what I want to write about? ‘Cause, you know, the whole topic is just about whether Goneril and Regan are ‘bad’ people, or if they’re just asserting themselves, and I’d _definitely_ agree with that viewpoint, but the thing is that they’re _obviously_ supposed to be evil.”

“Oh?” Adora finds herself hardly keeping up—she’s exhausted from volleyball today, and Glimmer’s just peppering her with words. She’s wondering why Glimmer needed her help with this in the first place.

“Yeah—Regan fucking scratches out Gloucester’s eyes, for God’s sake. Plus, like, the fact that Goneril and Regan aren’t very fucking feminist if they hate Cordelia, you know?”

“Uh huh,” Adora says agreeably. She barely remembers King Lear, if she’s being honest.

“So I think what I’m going to write is that Goneril and Regan _are_ feminists, but they’re not supposed to be _good_ feminists. They’re supposed to be the kind of radical feminists that are just TERFs, they abuse their power and treat everyone like shit, and they don’t _actually_ give a shit about other women. And to top off that point, I’m gonna say that the feminine power here comes from _Cordelia._ ”

“Oh, really?” Adora asks, trying to remember anything—she remembers not liking Cordelia that much. Really, is it that hard to just _say_ you love your dad, even if you don’t?

“Yeah! I mean, she kind of asserts herself just in the beginning and is willing to take the punishment for it, but doesn’t back down on herself. She doesn’t turn on her father and helps him when he needs her, but again, she never backs down on her own power—she never abuses it, and in the end, she dies, but it was as her own person, from her own choices.”

Adora nods. “Fair point.”

“What do you think?” Glimmer’s eyes are shining a little bit, like she’s proud of herself, and Adora instantly knows she’d say anything to keep that look in her eyes.

“That sounds fantastic—it’s a really good analysis of the source material and it definitely shows that you understand the nuance in their characters.”

“Um—” Glimmer hesitates. “Actually, I didn’t read the book.”

Adora blinks. “You didn’t?”

Glimmer opens the SparkNotes tab that Adora didn’t notice in her browser. “Oops?”

Adora shakes her head, but she can’t stop a grin from splitting her face. “God. Yeah,  
I get it. That’s a good essay, though, and it’s definitely going to make an impression on your teacher.”

Glimmer gives her a grin back. “Anyways, I’ll get started in a second. What do you want to drink?”

 

\- - -

 

Adora sips her pink drink, peering over Glimmer’s shoulder.

“That’s ‘had,’ not ‘have.’”

Glimmer shoots her a sideways glare as she presses the backspace about four times, resolutely keeping her mouth shut. She types in silence for another few seconds before clearing her throat and reading aloud, “Goneril and Regan are condemned by the narrative as villains, and therefore not positive representations of feminism. If Shakespeare had intended any sort of feminist interpretation of the text, surely, he would have chosen Cordelia, as she repeatedly displays her own sense of self and…” Glimmer frowns at the next words, then revises quickly. “And dies at the end through her own choice and power.”

“Badass conclusion,” Adora says with a nod. “You’re gonna blow this out of the water.”

Glimmer flushes. “Not bad for not having read the book, huh?”

“Yeah, about that.” Adora leans forward, snaking her arm underneath Glimmer’s to scroll up the page. She’s so used to doing that to Catra—just brushing their arms together for no reason, resting her chin on Catra’s shoulder as she scrolls the paper—that she doesn’t realize how close she is until Glimmer makes a surprised squeaking noise. Adora snaps her hand back like the keyboard burned her. “Sorry! I’m… I’m tired and I do that a lot to my other friend…”

Glimmer gives her an odd, but reassuring look. “It’s okay. What did you need to look at?”

“Um, that second body paragraph—where you talked about Regan and Goneril hating Cordelia and trying to kill her before the first Act? I don’t think that happened.”

“Well, they _did_ hate her—”

“—Because she was always the favorite, and constantly got shafted so that Cordelia could have more,” Adora points out harshly.

Glimmer squints at her. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Well, I’m not going to change your mind. But I don’t think getting less Christmas presents than your sibling entitles you to kill them.”

“Well—well of course not!” Adora can feel her face flushing, and she doesn’t know if it’s from embarrassment or frustration. “But you shouldn’t call them bad feminists because of it.”

“Well, I didn’t. It’s everything else that they did, _plus_ that.”

Adora huffs, trying to think of the words to properly explain herself.

“Well—well, whatever. It didn’t happen, anyways.”

“Okay,” Glimmer says, clicking on that section of the text and removing it. “Looking good?”

“Great. You’re gonna ace this.”

“Thanks for helping me,” Glimmer says with an uncharacteristically shy smile. Adora’s not sure what’s so endearing about it—that she’s _never_ shy, or that her face is almost completely devoid of makeup, or the silver ring in the center of her lips, or the freckles splashed on her nose—but she wants to kiss her, all of a sudden.

_Whoa._

“Y—yeah.”

Maybe it doesn’t take much to knock her over, after all.

 

* * *

 

Glimmer ends up with a low B on the paper—Mr. Leon hadn’t wanted to fail her paper outright, since it was well written, but her ability to stay on the prompt was… lacking. So—a B.

Glimmer’s satisfied with it. The grades she usually makes in that class are worse, so honestly, this is an achievement—but when she texts Adora about it, her phone almost immediately buzzes with a response.

 **_adora:_ ** _OH MY GOD IM SO SORRY!!!_

Glimmer frowns at her phone. Sorry?

 **_glimmer:_ ** _...wht fro?_

It takes hardly a moment for Adora to reply.

 **_adora:_ ** _oh. Is that a good grade? I dunno. congrats!_

Glimmer texts back quickly—she gives Mr. Leon a cursory glance just to make sure he’s not about to yell at her for being on her phone. He’s not, so Glimmer types out a response.

 **_glimmer:_ ** _i usuauslyly gte liek. 70s so._

 **_glimmer:_ ** _thsi is goob_

Why, oh why, is she not surprised at all to read Adora’s next message?

 **_adora:_ ** _goob_

Glimmer flicks her gaze up at the board—and sees Mr. Leon looking at her with disappointment. Sheepishly, she tucks her phone into her pocket until after class, picking up her pencil to scribble down the last ten minutes worth of notes into her notebook that she’ll never look at again until finals time.

She forgets to text Adora back until after class—and by then, she’s already late for the volleyball game, since she had to stay after so that Mr. Leon could lecture her for ten minutes about having her phone out in class. Glimmer texts Adora back as soon as she’s out of his sight.

 **_glimmer:_ ** _soryr got picnhed for havibg my phoen out. u goign to volletybal game?_

Funnily, she doesn’t get a text back—Adora’s usually right on top of texts and things like that, so it’s odd, but Glimmer doesn’t think too much of it.

She’s a little surprised Adora’s talking to her at all, honestly—and even more surprised that the initial grating of their personalities and the simple fact that Adora seemed to dislike her immensely is just… gone. Replaced with nothing but a deep curiosity, an innocent wondering that revolved around the person that was supposedly her ‘soulmate.’

Pish. Whatever.

Glimmer trots down the stairs, noticing how the hallways are empty—they always are when everyone’s out on the field.

...Adora still hasn’t texted back. Glimmer glances at her phone one last time before pushing open the back door—and bumps straight into Adora. Literally. The door smacks her in the nose and Glimmer gasps as she hears a sickening _crunch._

“Oh, my God, _Adora!”_

Adora winces, her hand flying up to her face as Glimmer can’t do anything but stare. “Shit, shit, hit,” she hisses, and when her fingers part, Glimmer sees blood.

“ _Fuck._ Umm…” Glimmer trails off into high humming, her brain spinning at maximum speed but nothing churning out. “Is Mrs. Joy in?”

“No— _thit,”_ Adora snaps, but something must have swollen., since she’s not pronouncing her _s’_ s very well—hand still clutched to her face. “God, I think itth broken.”

“I _broke_ your _nose?”_ Glimmer’s jaw drops, looking back and forth between her hands and Adora’s bloody face. She frowns, or at least, Glimmer thinks so, since she can only see parts of Adora’s mouth.

Adora winces. “I… think tho? Ah, _ah—_ I jutht hit it at the wrong angle.”

“Where’s Mrs. Joy?” Glimmer bits her lip.

“Prepping for the game—the _game._ Thit, I was jutht getting my bag out of my locker— _fuck.”_

“Adora—Adora, is everything okay?”

“ _I jutht broke my goddamn nothe and I have to play in five minuteth!”_

Glimmer’s eyes bug out of her head. “You’re on the team? Oh, God.”

Adora groans, in pain or frustration or both. “Yeah. Yeah, thit—Mermithta’s gonna have to thet today.”

“They’ll be fine without you,” Glimmer says, and she doesn’t realize how harsh the words sound until they’re already out of her mouth. “I—I meant that you should just focus on you right now, and worry about the team later. They’ll figure it out.”

Adora’s mouth sets in a thin line but she nods in agreement. Glimmer’s hands automatically fly to support Adora, in some way, somehow, but she hesitates. Does Adora want her comfort, her presence?

“Um—Mrs. Joy,” Glimmer says, drawing her hands back after Adora either didn’t see or ignored her outreach.

Adora nods, and Glimmer follows her gingerly back to the volleyball field, where Mrs. Joy is prepping a small emergency tent, in case of any injuries during the game.

“Heyyy, Mrs. Joy,” Glimmer says with a nervous smile. “I have some work for you to do!”

Mrs. Joy—a rather round, chubby woman with curly purple hair—looks up from where she’s unfolding a chair, sees Adora holding her nose, and her eyes widen instantly.

“Adora! Are you alright?”

“Broke my nothe,” she says, her voice much more glum and resigned than the panicked state she’d been in just minutes ago. Possibly Glimmer’s words had sunken in.

“Oh, dear. Well, let me just—” Mrs. Joy glares at Glimmer. “How did this happen?”

“Door,” she and Adora say at the same time. When Mrs. Joy just looks even more confused, Glimmer sighs.

“I wasn’t paying attention and I opened the door at the same time Adora was coming through the other side, and it hit her—all I know is that it’s bleeding, bad.”

Adora nods to confirm, and Mrs. Joy’s lips thin in exasperation.

“Fine, fine—get out of here, Glimmer. I need to work with Adora.”

Glimmer nods, hands twitching, but doesn’t move yet. “Will she be okay?”

Mrs. Joy snorts. “It’s a broken nose, not cancer. She’ll be fine. Come check on her after the game.”

 

\- - -

 

Glimmer rushes into the tent the very second the game ends, having not paid attention to a single second of it. Sure, she was there to support her friends Mermista and Perfuma, but the truth is, she doesn’t know a damn thing about volleyball, and they’re not even that close. Besides, Mrs. Joy had told her to swing by as soon as the game was over, and it is, now, which means she can check on Adora.

Mrs. Joy sniffs, miffed at being evicted from her tent, but being a nurse and all, she understands when sometimes, a patient and their visitor need to be alone. So she steps outside, leaving Glimmer and Adora to sort their shit out themselves.

There’s white tape all over Adora’s nose, not to mention gauze stuffed in one of her nostrils, plus a bruise forming on her cheekbone.

Glimmer didn’t anticipate feeling so deathly awkward.

“Um.”

Adora coughs.

“Hi.”

Glimmer’s fingers twiddle together in her pockets. “Sorry about your nose.”

“Sorry about your paper,” Adora says, looking down at the floor.

Glimmer blinks. “What?”

Adora shakes her head. “I probably would’ve been upset with anything lower than a 90 on that, honestly. But if you’re happy with it, take it.” She still slurs her _s’_ s, just a little, but not enough that Glimmer would otherwise notice.

“Really, it’s cool. I usually get way lower grades, so the fact that I got even that high is a pretty big deal.”

“That’s good. I’m glad.”

Glimmer looks down at the floor, now. “Well, um, again, sorry ‘bout your nose.”

Adora shrugs. “It’s what we do.”

“Huh?”

“Jocks. I just meant—nevermind.” Adora flushes. “It was a stupid joke.”

Glimmer snorts. “You can choose _not_ to be a jock, you know.”

“Volleyball’s fun.”

“I’m sure.” Glimmer eyes the callouses on Adora’s knees. Adora looks away, and Glimmer’s suddenly struck with a thought. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” Adora does an _I’m-trapped-in-here-so-you-might-as-well_ shrug.

“Why did you hate me?”

Adora snorts. “Did?”

Glimmer realizes, all of a sudden, that all of these feelings—the bitterness, the curiosity, the deeper, much deeper desire to just kiss Adora stupid—were probably one-sided, and Adora doesn’t realize that anything’s changed between them at all. Maybe dropping her stupid biases immediately and getting infatuated with the first cute girl that blinked in her direction was a bad idea. Maybe—

“Oh. So you did figure out I don’t hate you anymore?”

Glimmer’s eyes snap up to Adora’s. There’s no bitterness, there—no hate, no dislike, no disgust or annoyance. Just curiosity. Like her.

“Um… I guess?”

Adora barks a laugh—it’s short and tight, but a laugh nonetheless. “I didn’t hate you. I guess I just kind of… didn’t like you, ‘cause you were preppy and pastel and rich. Also, Mermista said you talk shit about jocks.”

Glimmer snorts. “I do. But I can probably lay it off, if you never call me preppy again. I’m _pastel goth.”_

“Never heard of that.”

Glimmer sighs. “I guess I might be able to teach you later. How are you feeling?”

Adora laughs—this time, it’s real. It’s a warm and tingly feeling that spreads in Glimmer’s heart, that laugh.

“Well, other than that I’m pretty sure we lost because I wasn’t setting, and my supposed soulmate just broke my nose? Pretty great, actually.”

“Oh?” Adora manages to always have a positive attitude, Glimmer’s noticed—except for that very first night that Glimmer was stranded on her property. But in hindsight, if she were in Adora’s shoes, she’d be pretty grouchy if some rich kid rolled up on her property while she was already soaked and freezing looking for chickens in the dark.

“Yeah.” Adora’s eyes flick to the ground. “‘Cause I met someone I like.”

“...Oh.”

Adora flushes. “I’m—I’m so sor—”

“Can I kiss you?” Glimmer blurts, and Adora looks like she’s about to combust (hell, that’s what Glimmer feels like, but she’s putting on a brave face), but she nods. And Glimmer’s heart beats into her throat, suffocating her as she leans forward and gently, gently presses a small kiss to Adora’s lips.

It’s like kissing sunlight, almost—sweet and golden and perfect in every way, leaving Glimmer wanting more and perfectly content, at the same time.

“Careful,” Adora whispers. “Wouldn’t want to break my nose again.”

Glimmer laughs. “No, I guess not.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> this is my half of an art trade with @blueskittles-art on tumblr, i hope u like it!  
> (yes the title is a joke abt adora getting her nose broken)


End file.
